


Breathe

by hanyou_elf



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Multi, PTSD, Stark Spangled Banner - Freeform, ethical poly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5617984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanyou_elf/pseuds/hanyou_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He dreams of the ice.  He remembers the war and the freezing and he can't breathe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for darkly-stark on tumblr. Read through by zhem1x5 and all remaining mistakes are my own.

He can't breathe. It's hard to just inhale, and he knows it's only going to get worse. He can't move. His body is freezing, clinging to the metals beneath him as he gasps futilely. He knows how this ends. He dies. He dies and he leaves everyone he's ever loved behind. Bucky, who's already dead Peggy who could have been so much more in the post-war world.

  

He's got the shield drawn up tight to his chest, his grip on it so strong that he can feel the metal biting into his skin. He can hear the echo of water dripping. The ominous creaking of the plane around him as it slowly submerges. He's trapped, and he's going to die like this. If only he'd been unconscious for it.

 

"Steve," a voice he recognizes but shouldn't be able to hear.

 

He clenches his eyes shut even tighter, hoping against hope that it'll block everything else out. Silently praying for the black nothingness before he's killed. He's panting, the shield close to him, it's the only thing that he has left. His fingers trace the rounded edges beneath them as he waits. His bladder is full, he needs to pee, but he doesn't want to lose that last bit of dignity just yet. His body could wait until he was unconscious first, and then let go.

 

"Steve, come on babe," a different voice. He recognizes it, even though he shouldn’t be able to.

 

His eyes pop open and he gasps in a breath before he can think about it. Sitting up, the shield falls to the side and clatters on the hardwood floors beneath their bed. Tony is sitting on one side, shoulder to shoulder with Bruce. His eyes are wide in confusion, concern over something so familiar, and just a touch of hope that Steve is okay. Bruce, on the other hand, looks resigned to this, comfortable with late night wake ups.

 

"I'm sorry," Steve pants. He pushes himself out of bed and slips when his foot grazes over the smooth metal of the shield. "Shit, I'm sorry," he repeats. He manages to catch himself before he falls on his butt, but only barely. His hands on the cool blue of the sheets clench and drag the material into a knot. He knows he's better than this, can do better than this. He's stronger than this imaginary thing that leaves him panting and desperate for a hot shower.

 

"Shut up," Tony says. He crawls to Steve's hands and places his own over them. "You're not going to apologize for a nightmare."

 

Blue eyes slide closed and Steve listens as Bruce stands, excusing himself with a quiet, "I'll be back. Get him in the shower," to Tony and a soft kiss to his forehead for Steve. Tony's body moves closer, the sharp scent of human sweat and oil competing with the lingering smell of his cologne and expensive soaps invades Steve's senses.

 

This thing between them is different, it's Tony and Steve, and sometimes it's Bruce too. It surprises him how little it bothers him, how he hadn't even thought to feel jealousy over Tony and Bruce, the first time he'd seen them kissing. Perhaps it was because Tony had made mention of his attraction, and that he just wanted to try it. He hadn't counted on liking it so much, and Steve hadn't counted on liking kissing Bruce so much either. It was a new idea for him, and even though Bruce wasn't there all the time, he was around enough to make him a solid third in their relationship.

 

Bruce was into the physical things, he didn't want to be involved in the romance, which suited them all just fine. So with Steve's panic attack, his display of weakness, now that he's not lost in his head and potentially a threat to Tony, Bruce is content to just let them sort it out. To let Tony be the balm that soothes his jagged, wounded edges. Steve will have to make it up to him later.

 

His breathing is evening out and Steve can finally get some kind of relief, but it still doesn't feel like enough. It's like being back in the 1920's, struggling to gasp a single breath in while he stood vigil over a boiling pot of water with a towel over his head. He's starting to shake, adrenaline and terror and everything else combining.

 

"Come on, soldier," Tony murmurs. "Let's get you into the shower."

 

"Don't... don't need a shower," he answers.

 

"Because you're shivering because you're warm? Come on. You were dreaming about the ice, let's warm you up. You can't argue with good hot water," Tony rebutts. And Steve can't deny that he isn't wrong. Because it was the ice. It was his imminent death that never happened and left him stranded in this century.

 

Tony's arms wrap themselves around him, his face buried in Steve's neck and he inhales deeply. He's not wrong, Steve's trembling, could use a shower and a strong bottle of whisky. He stands up, dragging Tony's pliant body with him and moves to the en suite. If he has to do this, and his shaky body is any indication, he's going to do it in comfort.

 

"Want me to wash your back, Captain?" Tony murmurs into Steve's ears, biting at his chin as they move. He runs his hands down Steve's back and up again, tracing the thick muscles as they flex and relax beneath Steve's skin.

 

"Wash my back, wash my hair. Whatever. Just, don't leave me alone right now," Steve begs softly, ashamed of his weakness and desperate to have it soothed all the same.

 

"Want me to get Brucie-bear back in here?" Tony asks as he's set on his feet. Steve looks at him, lost and unsure. His hands ball up into fists at his side and his body won't stop shaking.

 

He nods jerkily. Bruce is a good counterpoint to Tony's manic energy. And Steve needs... something. He doesn't even know what he wants or needs, just that he knows it's not this. He wants to feel the coarse hair that decorates Bruce's body, the smooth lines that make up Tony's pressed against his. He needs the overwhelming heat of bodies pressed together, the comfort of his lovers close and safe.

 

"Jarvis, bring me Bruce," Tony orders. He turns the shower on and because he's Tony Stark and these things happen almost instantly, hot water sprays from the showerhead. Mist fills the cool bathroom. "Into the shower," Tony shoos him. He'll follow shortly, after they get Bruce in the bathroom and turn some cold water on with the scalding heat. Jarvis won't let him burn skin off, but Steve's capacity for pain is a lot higher than Tony's, or Bruce's.

 

Steve bows his head under the hot water and just breathes. He's not... he's okay. He has to believe he's okay, because he's safe. He's with Tony. And with Bruce. They're safe. He clenches his eyes and lets tears fall.

 

The water cools and cold air rushes over his back but is immediately shut out as Tony and Bruce climb into the shower with him. Steve turns and bows his head, burying his face in Tony's neck. Bruce's strong hands trace over his back and shoulders and Tony's hand slips through his hair. It's comforting,

 

"I love you," Steve murmurs into the quiet of the shower. "I'm sorry."

 

"Shh," Bruce chides. "Don't worry about it. We've got you, Steve."

 

"We love you too," Tony answers.


End file.
